We need to stop worrying and learn to love the pumpkin
Cianan Sheekey • Society & Culture • 3 minute read
Image: Steven Van Elk / Unsplash
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It’s October 1st, and my much-beloved Halloween is now in sight. That is horrifying for all; for some, in a gleefully joyous sort of way; for others, a loathing kind of fear bubbles.
Defending Halloween is becoming somewhat of an annual endeavour of mine. Few things are more telling of the issues in the British societal psyche than our hatred of the holiday. Oh, but it’s American! No, it’s Celtic, and say that with a straight face while listening to your pop music in your blue jeans. But it’s tacky! No, it can be tacky, but so can every holiday. New-build estate Christmas is far worse, but I don’t see people rejecting festivities on that basis. Yeah, well, Bonfire Night is much better! Okay, if that’s how you feel, but why can’t you do both? It’s okay to be anti-fun, but don’t claim there’s some higher logic behind it.
We have to reject others’ happiness in this nation. It’s pretty much our favourite pastime. Or, to put it another way, we’re all too serious. In love with a ‘crisis’, whether it’s the prison system, NHS, or military, it’s like we need to feel the weight of perpetual collapse, everything crumbling around us. We’re more comfortable being uncomfortable. Yet, in the grand scheme of things, we still do pretty well for ourselves as a little island boasting few natural resources and a shaky union. And though it seems far-fetched, Halloween is yet another victim of this crisis mentality.
Social cohesion in this day and age? How horrfying
Supposedly, October’s spookfest highlights the dearth in our British cultural class. This is simply because, although it is not American, our Halloweens are increasingly Americanised, and for those blissfully unaware of the Americanisation all around them, there is apparently nothing worse. When one deploys the overused metaphor of the old man screaming at the clouds, it is often to berate cultural conservatives, but it isn’t even solely the triple-lock receivers who assail this holiday. The left can in equal measure espouse the same lamentation.
So, then, returning to our crisis-obsession, simply because the translucidity of Britishishness has become pre-eminent in our social zeitgeist does not mean we need to hate everything we associate with being remotely imported. A certain populist party would approve that sort of rationale. We’re more comfortable being uncomfortable, but not in a Halloween-style amusing way; no, the anxiety has to be genuine, not playful. As if, because real-life scares us, we can’t explore the fun of fear.
Given our half-hearted Halloween ways in this country, some feel we need a national consensus on the holiday, but I disagree. It’s good that we don’t impose on the anti-fun crowd. Halloween haters shouldn’t have to participate. It gives the rest of us who give a hoot freedom from their humbug, and in so many ways it’s a unifying holiday.
The Halloween chameleon effect: it fits everyone, based on interest level, age, and affluence. Younglings are the trick-or-treaters; late teenagers and the university masses congregate in the nation’s pubs and clubs, while adults are the trick-or-treated decorators and, as with all activities, supervisors. The simplicity of a doorstep jack-o’-lantern, or the over-the-top home covered head to toe – you can participate without being consumed by seasonality, or dive in head first, whether it be in a council estate or a bourgeois gated community. Social cohesion, in this day and age? How horrifying. And for its naysayers, the peak only lasts 48 hours before the season returns to the nation’s attics and sheds, so it’s not like it overstays its welcome.
Image: Quilia / Unsplash
So there aren’t any strong reasons to outright dismiss Halloween, and no matter how much or little you engage, it can work for all in its own way. So why can’t we all open our hearts up to a bit of spooky seasonality? Year on year, more do, and when there are so few reasons to fight it besides some mythical cultural sophistication, which, let’s face it, we don’t have, the prevalence of Britain’s anti-happiness police is once again evident.
Polling indicates that only 29% of our lives is ‘fun’, and we’re beginning to grasp why. Here we have, presented on a silver platter, a perfect stopgap that sits as brother to Bonfire Night, helping to eke out the dark nights between the height of summer and the joy of Christmas. Yet, many will remain unconvinced. For some, they just can’t shake that desire for something else to moan about, that urge for yet another crisis, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes. This country would be a better place if we learnt to stop worrying and love the pumpkin.
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•Published: 01/10/26
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